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Grand Canyon

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There came a point in my life when my world went all gray and fuzzy amidst a wash of dark emotions and uncertainty. At that time, I experienced the sensation of constantly dangling over a bottomless pit of ambiguity as I clung, desperately, to the edge of the cliff by my ever-fraying fingernails. I was absolutely terrified that I was going to fall and either crash into my oblivion or never stop falling. Either of those prospects was unappetizing enough to keep me hanging on for my life.

Prior to this period of being suspended precariously over nothingness, I had learned many new and different ways of thinking. I had gained many new life skills for operating amongst the other humans here in healthier ways. So, you would think that I would be happy as a lark and sailing home free. I wasn’t though. Instead, I was clinging to a crumbling overhang and praying to all that was holy that I was going to make it out alive.

How did I get from being a peaceful life traveler to a petrified woman who clung to that precipice? I leapt before I was ready.

I am a huge supporter of leaping into nothingness and trusting you will learn to fly, but there is a time and a purpose for every season. When I leapt at that point, I was leaping out of sheer misery to prove that I was “enough” – this being my ultimate goal in practically everything I did at that time in my life.

See, I had learned all these fabulous skills from some pretty amazing people – who were only flawed humans themselves, but I had elevated them to saint status and given them royal robes to wear. Their heightened state in my mind had them reigning over me all the time which served to keep me in a destructive subordinate and “less than” mental state. The only way I could see through to me being elevated to their “equal” was for me to cross the chasm from student to master in the quickest way – leap!

This crazy decision to leap into mastership, rather than live into mastership was what had me gripping the face’s edge. I had skipped the process of building a stable foundation beneath me. Instead, I just declared myself at the top and then wondered why there was nothing – and nobody – there to support me.

There is a time and a place for complete madness and flinging yourself into the abyss of the unknown, rather than standing still in the face of fear. However, if you find yourself trying to find your footing so you can scramble back up the ledge or if you keep looking over your shoulder to emptiness below you, wondering how in the world you got there as the sweat runs down your temples, then it’s quite possible you leapt for the wrong reasons at the wrong time.

I leapt to prove something to someone who wasn’t even really watching. I wanted “them” – and that meant everyone in my realm, except me – to know I was good enough, that I was enough of anything, actually. I chose to cast myself over that edge because I needed to know everything – being good at “knowing stuff” had kept me safe for a long time.

Thing is, because I chose to fling myself into that gorge, hoping beyond hope that I would, finally, measure up to “enough,” it resulted in me needing to make a choice: continue to hang there forever because there was no foothold to grab so I could drag myself back onto earth –or– let go.

In the letting go – the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done – is where I forgot to be “enough” and began to live. As I fell freely and the air caressed me gently, tumbling me head over heels and embracing me, I began to find out who I really am. And, eventually, I landed on the earth much closer to the other side of the gap, not in mastership but many miles away from my need to prove that I was enough.

That was how I chose to do it, but it can be done more smoothly. Like action-adventure movie star at the edge of that abyss with seemingly no bridge to cross it, if you lean down and trust, casting some sand out before you, the bridge will make itself known to you and you can cross into mastership through a calm stroll – through living your learning.

What will you choose?

© Angie K. Millgate 10/1/12

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2 Responses to The Leap

  1. I can relate to this. So many years of being told & feeling like I was not enough….

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